Lord Kritavarman massaged his temple. ‘I do not understand a word that comes out of your mouth, Emissary.’

But Akrur had understood. A frozen moment of distrust wedged itself in the space between them. Ignoring Akrur, Krishna appraised the Valka in admiration and irritation. Your affectations are but a ruse, are they not? While the boy did not know what was planned, he realized there was indeed a plan. Jarasandh had chosen well. How was it he had never heard of this boy? Eklavvya cleared his throat.

‘We agree to the terms.’ Krishna nodded, ignoring the shocked faces and staring eyes around him.

Akrur walked to Krishna and seized his arm to whisper, ‘You can’t agree on our behalf, Lord Krishna! There is a Senate, a process...’

‘Lord Akrur,’ Krishna placed a hand on Akrur’s shoulder. ‘I suppose you should escort Eklavvya to the lawscribe to solemnize our understanding. We can always celebrate later.’

Akrur looked like he would burst. But, to his credit, he held his peace and walked out without a word. Eklavvya chirped and followed. Kritavarman paused only to say, ‘Akrur will have words for you, Lord Krishna,’ before leaving Satyabhama and Krishna alone once more.

‘So, what now?’ Satyabhama asked, returning to comb her hair before the mirror. ‘You’ve run out of funds. The Third Sister almost fell yesterday. You’ve no friends left in the East or,’ she pointed at the retreating figures of Akrur and Kritavarman, ‘the Senate. You have just a year before Magadh returns with its entire might against Mathura. What are you going to do?’

‘I’m working on it,’ said Krishna with a half-smile. ‘For now, we’re going on a much-needed vacation.’

I

It is said that the greatest gift the Gods can give you is to forget about you. And Shishupal wanted nothing more than to spend his life unnoticed by the Gods. A life unnoticed by the Gods is boring and unimaginative, but a happy and long one. And he worked hard to make his life precisely thus. He had toiled in the army of the Empire, dutifully rising to the rank of Claw in the Imperial Forces, then retiring at the ripe age of thirty, on moral grounds, disgusted with reports of the Yaksha’s gruesome acts of war. Now he served as the lazy Commander of the Crimson Cloaks, the City Watch, much to the Emperor’s chagrin. For some unfathomable reason, the Emperor had considered him to be a promising protégé; a case of mistaken identity no doubt.

Had the dice of fate thrown a six instead of a one, Shishupal would have now been a Prince. He was the son of Lord Damogjosha, erstwhile King of Chedi, now Vassal Lord of the Empire. If the Magadhans had not marched into Chedi all those decades ago, Shishupal’s fate would have been to labour on a throne, hold court, decide tariffs, and perform other such hazardous duties. But the good old Empire had marched into Chedi, razed a few kingly buildings, and would no doubt have indulged in more fanfare had Shishupal’s father not bent the knee before Jarasandh.